


i don't know about you

by ElyseWeasley



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, and super fluffy, but im not, idk what this is, its just me being stupid and pretending im funny, like seriously, with birthday boy louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElyseWeasley/pseuds/ElyseWeasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because it’s his twenty-second birthday does not give anybody the right to sing him Taylor Swift.  It doesn’t.</p><p>Or</p><p>the one where Taylor Swift is actually a criminal mastermind and managed to write, record, and make famous her song before December 24, 2013, just so Louis would have to deal with the lyrical innuendos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't know about you

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is or why I did it. I was inspired okay. And I literally wrote it in twenty (TWO) minutes and didn't edit. So yeah.
> 
> I was also totally uncreative with Louis' birthday present, and I didn't know anything about what I was typing, so yeah WHATEVER MAN. I DON'T EVEN CARE.

                The morning of his twenty-second birthday Louis Tomlinson awakes just like he does any other day.  That in itself should be a premonition to how the rest of the day was going to go, but.

                Louis’ usually morning routine consists a) griping about having to get up b) stumbling in a half-awake, almost half-drunken stupor to his shitty shower which shittiley enough still hasn’t been fixed which is  PRETTY SHITTY (because really, you think being a world-wide pop sensation would constitute for an acceptable plumbing system- but whatever), and c) trying to cook himself breakfast until either Harry swoops in all Disney-princess like and makes him something, or he’s forced to take the long commute to some lower-class, not largely recognized store/bakery to purchase something that will definitely not taste as good as _something_ cooked by his boyfriend, which by that time he won’t even be hungry.

                Louis has never been the hugest fan of mornings.  Especially ones like this one.  The ones where Harry is absent from his side and not there to make a dismal slightly less dismal –or maybe a lot less dismal, but he can’t let Harry got cocky or anything.

                It’s just more unfortunate on this particular day because…because it’s his birthday and isn’t that something your boyfriend should be here for?  Isn’t that a rule?  If it isn’t, Louis definitely thinks it needs to be.

                So ~~slightly~~  (a lot more) bummed than usual, Louis carries out his routine.  He takes a freezing shower in the midst of complaining about his actually-not-that-bad life and then burns a whole package of bacon before sneaking into a corner bakery where the paint is peeling, and it smells faintly of urine, and where the most harmless looking thing behind the glass container is a slightly deformed muffin.  And all the while he’s getting more and more pissed that he’s been up for nearly an hour, and Harry has still not said a word to him.  He even checks his phone for a lousy text message.

                And amongst the “ _happy bday mate ! !”_ from Niall, the _“Happy Birthday Grandpa. ;)”_ from Zayn, and the _“HAPYP BRITHDAY LOUIS!!!!!! (: (: (: (: (:”_ from Liam, along with a long message from his sisters, mother, and a couple of his friends, not one of them adorns the From: _the bane of my existence (my name is harry you twat)_ that Louis really wants to see.   He walks back to his hideaway flat-his fans found his real one, _annoying slightly lovable assholes_ \- ducking his head while chewing on a stale muffin.  When he gets back to his flat, he sprawls across the couch groaning.

                So far, twenty-two isn’t really that great.  Of course at that precise moment some weird indie ring tone blasts from his phone he’s had perched on his stomach, _fucking Harry,_ and the shock of it all almost sends him spiraling off his couch.  Without needing to he scans the caller I.D. (the bane of my exi…) before answering.

                Immediately Harry begins singing, _“I don’t know about yoouuu, but I’m feeling—”_ And then Louis hangs up because absolutely the fuck _no,_ they have a rule against mentioning Taylor Swift in any way shape or form.

                When Harry calls back, Louis lets it go to voice mail to keep Harry guessing.  Harry calls back and Louis simply answers with the word, “No.”

                His stupid, obnoxious boyfriend is _giggling._ “No?”  And dammit, that fucking suave, sexy, throaty growl has Louis’ stomach all a flutter—and DAMMIT.

                Louis manages to keep his cool.  He rewards himself with another mouthful of gross blueberry muffin that he’s actually thinking was supposed to be chocolate.  “I absolutely refuse for you to sing that _fucking_ song to me, _Harold._ ”

                “Not my name,” he says as if the answer is rehearsed, because it is.

                “That’s not my concern right now… _Harold_.” Louis sighs dramatically, “Why are you not here?  I had to wake up on my birthday by myself.”

                Harry’s voice is much more delicious than the almost-half eaten muffin Louis is holding in his hand. _So much more._ “Sorry, babe.  Not my choice.”  He really doesn’t have to say anything more.

                “Yeah, well, when is it ever our choice, right?”  Harry starts to protest, but Louis cuts him off.  “I am kidding, sort of, no really I’m being my melodramatic self.  Good thing I have my boyfriend here to comfort me—OH WAIT.”

                “Louis.”  It’s been how many years and the sound of his voice on Harry’s tongue still makes him feel like a teenager.  Without meaning to, he grins at the phone.

                “Harry.”

                There is a lengthy pause between the response of, “I’ve got some bad news.”

                “Dammit,” he sighs back, “what?”

                “You really gotta watch your mouth, _my darling._ No, but, I know it’s your birthday and all—”

                “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that I’ve not been properly serenaded.”

                “—but you told me we were partners for life, and I’m going to be annoying for that long, so I’m sorry but I have to and _I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I’M FEELING TWENTY—”_

Louis hangs up.  Harry calls to verbally assault him seven more times before he finally just leaves a text message:

                From: the bane of my existence (my name is harry you twat)

                _Love you, my precious twenty-two year old.  I’ll see you at your party tonight.  Happy Birthday._

_Xx “Harold”_

Despite himself, when he reads the text message Louis is grinning ridiculously at the screen.  He thinks if anyone could see him right now they’d realize how totally in love he is.  He wishes that wasn’t a bad thing.

_____________________________

                Apparently Harry is not the only one who’s made a connection between his age and the Taylor Swift song.  Because _fucking everyone sings it to him._

Zayn, Niall, and Liam all call him together to belt it at the top of their lungs.

                His bratty sisters _force_ him to listen to them singing the whole song.

                All the security guards (who should stay security guards because sweet Lord, they are pitchy) decide to sing it as their opening line.

                Then Eleanor even calls him, and she’s nice and says “Happy Birthday Louis”, and he thinks “SHE’S NOT SINGING” and then all of a sudden, “Harry told me to,” and “YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT ME, BUT I BET YOU WANT TO.”

                And then the fans.

                The fans.

                **THE FANS.**

If Louis sees one more fucking mention including anything about Taylor Swift, he might be forced to physically break his computer in half, feed it to sharks, and then throw their remains into those things that shred wood (so what, Louis doesn’t know what they are called, get over it) until nothing is left of that song. 

                By the time it rolls around to his party, and he’s more done than he already was with that song, Louis fully believes that T-Swizzle did this on purpose.  Those blonde locks actually hide a lethal, malevolent mind that has used hormonal teenage girls as well as a catchy—not that he’s admitting it or anything—chord progression to plan his demise.  She craftily conjured the song just to make Louis suffer.

                Really.  It’s true.

                He arrives to the party, swearing up and down that if they play that song he’s going to straight up leave.  _Straight up._

Much to his surprise (NOT REALLY) when he walks in the chorus is blasting from probably a million speakers and Harry the culprit is waiting for he grinning mischievously mouthing the lyrics as he grabs his fingers.  _Everything will be alright, if you keep me next to you.  You don’t know about me, but I bet you want to.  Everything will be alright, if we just keep dancing like we’re twenty-twooooo._

Louis gives him a very forced smile, grips his hand overly tight, and shouts very loudly.  “If you play this song again, I’m going to _fucking_ flip.”

                Harry laughs, even though Louis is entirely serious, and pulls him forward by the waist.  Louis almost smiles, because they can do that here, and yeah, that’s a nice feeling.  But Louis’ also spent his entire birthday alone, listening to the same damn song, so he still grumpily tries to pull away.

                Of course his stupid boyfriend has to go being all irresistible or whatever.  He plants to hands on either side of his waist and bends slightly to unite their lips.  The Taylor Swift song has faded, Louis’ got his arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s neck, everything is tingly and warm and homey and this is how the whole day should have been.

                “I left you alone today.  But tonight and tomorrow it’s just me and you till we have to go see our families, okay?”

                Louis nods, goes in to get another kiss, but Harry, the bastard, has other plans.  “I’m going to give you your _physical_ present first?”

                “Harry, I refuse to have sex in public.”

                “Okay, I phrased that wrong.  I’m going to give you a present you can unwrap…wait—”

                “Give me the damn present, Harry.”

                He giggles again and leads him over to a table containing a strange assortment of boxes and wrappings and bows.  Harry holds two in his hands, quirks an eyebrow, and then gives him the shorter of the two.  “This one will be your birthday present.  You can open the other one at midnight.”

                So Louis opens the box wrapped with Disney-Princess wrapping pair and Louis’ so used to this _fucking_ kid that he just gives him a fond smile and then let’s his mouth drop because there is David Beckham’s name scribbled across a football along with the entire Manchester United team and even if it doesn’t really go together, Louis is tackling Harry to the ground and spattering his face with kisses, and Harry’s just smiling and grinning and then…

                “I love you,” Harry whispers.  And his voice stretches like cookie dough, and his eyes sparkle like a stainless steel refrigerator, and Louis thinks everything reminds him of Harry and how wonderful he is.  For that reason, he whispers,

                “I love you back.”

                Harry pulls them up and then their lips lock.  And everything about it makes him smile, lets him know that even this very uneventful birthday is the best as long as he’s got Harry there to hold him through it and to keep filling him with this all-encompassing warmth that stretches across his heart all the way to every vein in his bloodstream.

                As they stand there together, Louis thinks maybe, just maybe that “22” isn’t the worst song ever.

                …

                …

                …

                Nah.  It is.


End file.
